Rosetta
by Animom
Summary: Rishid receives unexpected advice about love from a very unexpected source - Pegasus Crawford. ** YuGiOh FanFiction Contest Season 8 round 6, Xenoshipping (Rishid/Ishizu).


Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh is the intellectual property of Kazuki Takahashi and Konami, and is being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect is intended by this fanfiction.

.

Description: Rishid receives advice from an unexpected source.

Prompted by Round 6 of Season 8 of the FFnet Fanfiction Contest, **Xenoshipping (Rishid and Ishizu)**. This story uses anime canon/continuity.

.

.

* * *

**Rosetta**

_by Animom_

* * *

.

.

The German gaming convention was large and most likely had drawn an international crowd, but as with all events of this type most of those who filled the hotel's elevators and restaurants and lobbies would be adolescents who measured their worth by the number and rarity of the cards in their decks. It always saddened him, these hollow children who seemed to have replaced every positive emotion with material goods, but he had come to realize that, as there was no way to cure them, he might as well allow them the satisfaction of pouring even more of their parent's money into the purchase of even more false self-worth.

In other words, he might as well sell them the rare cards they craved.

As he and Marik walked through the echoing lobby of the hotel to the registration desk he was grateful that it was just the two of them at this event. He knew that most of the organization's Hunters thought him weak for not dueling the easy marks at these events, and was glad not to have to endure mocking looks and snide comments. Not that it mattered, of course, but their attitude undermined his attempts to teach new recruits the value of an honorable victory, that one must always take on only opponents of equal or greater strength.

He was still thinking about how long it had been since he'd had a good challenge when the desk clerk handed them an envelope along with their room keys. Marik took it, read the message it contained, and then handed him the paper. "See to it. I'm going to sleep."

The message, written in Egyptian on expensive pale gray stationary, said only, "Cards and other rarities of interest in Room 3211." It was signed _M.J.C._

Rishid nodded his thanks to the desk clerk, shouldered their bags, and followed Marik to the elevator.

.

Unlike the bland beige walls and modern lighting of Rishid's own floor, the 32nd floor – the penthouse level of the hotel – was lit with antique sconces that made the hand-painted vines and gold leaf flowers of the wallpaper scintillate. The dark green carpet was as thick and soft as velvet. Room 3211 was the solitary door at the end of the hallway that led from the elevator.

Rishid's heart beat a little faster as he walked toward it, and he took a deep breath to calm himself. This type of room was rarely rented to spoiled teenagers: a hotel's luxury suite was reserved for wealthy and powerful adults.

The door, security chain in place, was opened a hand's-breadth by a tall man wearing a white ascot and a long red dressing-gown. Although the man's shoulder-length silvery hair and delicate features would have suggested effeteness to a casual observer, Rishid did not miss the look of shrewd appraisal on the sliver of the face that he could see.

"Ah, I was so hoping you'd come by!" the man said, his voice lilting and musical. "Just a moment!" The door shut, there was the rattle of the chain, and then the door was opened fully, revealing that the man's left eye was covered by a simple black patch. "Do come in and let's chat, shall we?"

Behind the man, two men in dark suits and sunglasses stood guard.

.

Having dismissed his bodyguards with a few sentences of rapidly spoken German, the man said, "I can't remember – do Egyptians shake hands? Or do they bow?"

"We shake hands," Rishid said slowly.

"Perfect! Well I," said the man, holding out his hand, "am Maximilian Crawford, known in certain circles as Pegasus." His handshake was firm and businesslike.

"It is an honor to meet you, Mr. Crawford," Rishid said, bowing slightly to hide his surprise. He knew who Crawford was, of course, and had suspected as soon as he had seen the temporarily-absent bodyguards that he was not here to play games. The only surprising thing, really was that it had taken so long: he had warned Marik more than once that the counterfeit cards would draw the attention of the makers of Duel Monsters unless they more carefully controlled the number of them that some of the Hunters had been using.

"Oh please! Call me Pegasus. _I insist,_" Pegasus said, moving to stand by an antique couch placed at right angles to the tall, ornate fireplace. "By the way, there's no need to introduce yourself by giving me a false name that will insult both of our intelligences – I know _exactly_ who you are, Mr. Rishid Ishtar. Have a seat, and let's talk."

Rishid eased into a chair across from the couch and folded his hands.

"Would you like something to drink?" Pegasus asked. "I myself prefer red wine, but for you, the house _doppelbock_, perhaps? Dark and strong and exotic? Much like you yourself?" This last sentence was delivered in a purr, with a coy, sideways glance.

Rishid shook his head. "I do not drink alcohol." In other circumstances, he would have taken such looks and comments as sexual advances, but he was sure that that was not what Pegasus intended; Pegasus was testing him, and if he was patient he would find out why.

"Will you be offended if I indulge myself?"

"Not at all." As Pegasus moved to a sideboard that held bottles and wineglasses, Rishid glanced around the large, high-ceilinged room. An artist's easel, the painting on it not visible from where he was seated, stood near the curved bay of windows. Next to it was a small table piled with tubes of paint, and a wooden chair draped with a painter's smock. Nearby, a long dining table held neat stacks of papers and two laptop computers. At the far end of the room was a closed door that probably led to the suite's bedrooms.

"What are those animals called," Pegasus said as he set his wineglass on a small table next to the couch and then sat down, "those mythical creatures of European mythology that hoard treasure?"

"Dragons?" Rishid offered, baffled by this conversational turn.

Pegasus laughed heartily. "Oh yes, _dragons_. Dragons. How silly of me to forget!" He took a sip of his wine, then studied the glass thoughtfully. "You see, Mr. Ishtar, I know full well what you and your organization have been up to." His voice was coldly serious now, almost reprimanding. "Using counterfeit cards to win ante duels. Taking players' rarest cards when you win."

Rishid kept his face absolutely still.

"What you need to understand, though, is that I," Pegasus put his glass down, and pressed his hand to his chest, "I am a _dragon_. As long as you leave my hoard alone, you can scurry about amongst the townsfolk all you like. After all, when they lose their cards to your trickery, most of them just buy more, which I don't mind at all." He then ran his hand though his hair, turning his head to watch the ends of the strands drop from his fingers. "And the fact that you're fooling the KaibaCorp dueling mainframe amuses me no end. I wish I could see the look on Kaiba-boy's face when he finds out – I'm sure his tantrum will be a thing of beauty." He looked back at Rishid and smiled again, showing very white teeth. "However – " and he suddenly clasped his hands and leaned forward, his face now angular and menacing and Rishid, despite himself, recoiled slightly, "if what you're doing starts to cut into my profits I'll swoop down from the sky, tear you and your Hunters limb from bloody limb, and burn your bones to ash."

Then the intensity was gone and Pegasus leaned back, sighing heavily. "Are you _sure_ I can't offer you something? Sparkling water? Fruit juice? You came here right from the airport – was a meal served on the plane? If not, the Room Service here is _superb_. If I eat much more of their delicious _Käsespätzle_ I'm sure I'll become quite rotund."

"Mr. Pegasus," Rishid asked carefully, "is there anything else?" This one-eyed man was strange. Erratic, perhaps dangerously unbalanced – and yet oddly likeable. Rishid was enjoying Pegasus' performance enough that he was sorry that he could not stay much longer – but his primary duty required that he sleep when Marik slept so that he would be awake whenever Marik was awake.

"Yes," Pegasus said. He stood and went to the window near the easel. "I wasn't sure at first that we would talk about it, but I have seen enough of you now to know that you are worthy of what I will say next."

More puzzles. Rishid waited.

"You know of the Rosetta Stone, I assume?"

"I have heard of it."

"The Rosetta Stone," Pegasus said, waving his hands and talking to the window as if lecturing to a class seated beyond the glass, "is a priceless antiquity. A _stele_ over two thousand years old, it contains text written in three languages: ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, late Egyptian alphabetic script, and ancient Greek. Because of the similarity of late Egyptian to modern Egyptian, the translators were able to see that what was written in late Egyptian and what was written in ancient Greek were the same – a decree from the time of Ptolemy V. From this they assumed – correctly, as it turned out – that the ancient hieroglyphs proclaimed the same information."

"There is also a third form of ancient Egyptian," Rishid said, thinking of Marik sleeping downstairs. The Winged Dragon of Ra.

"Yes. Hieratic. The priestly script," Pegasus said softly, folding his arms. "For writing on papyrus. A very powerful magical language." He turned from the window, "But about the Rosetta Stone – it's ironic, isn't it, that it was a Greek that enabled two Egyptians to be understood?

"You and I are of the same age," Pegasus continued. "So I'm sure you remember, as I do, how it was when you were young. You were carefree, and thought that everything would float along the River of Happiness forever. You took all the precious things in your life for granted." He picked up the painting smock from the chair near the easel. "But as we get older ... things happen. We lose what is dear to us … "

Rishid bowed his head. _A knife, a candle. Screams in the night. "You are not my son! You are not one of us! You are only a servant!"_

"… and that should teach us that the truly important things in life should be attended to, cherished and appreciated, before it's too late. So, as I am very fond of Ishizu, I would like to see her truly happy. She deserves it."

_Ishizu?_ Rishid's head snapped up, and he stared at Pegasus in unguarded surprise.

"And to do that I think I have decided to be your ancient Greek, so to speak." He turned the easel to display the painting in progress. On it, centered on the white of the canvas, were broad rough brushstrokes blocking in the image of a woman. She sat, regal as an empress, dressed in white, her dark hair braided and wrapped in gold. The only two parts of the painting that had been painted in detail were her green eyes and the ornate, familiar torc she wore.

"Ishizu … " Rishid whispered. He had not seen or spoken to her since he had taken Marik and fled their home in Egypt five years before. He had heard of her recent appointment to the museum, of course, and could have written to her, or even called – his hand had taken up the pen or the telephone so many times – but he had always stopped. He could not say to her what he wished to say, and even if he had been so foolish it would only have torn open that which was better left buried.

And so he had chosen to remain silent, and let his memories fade into the dust of the everyday. But somehow, this portrait of her as a full-grown woman was bringing it all back, as strongly as if she had been in the room with him: her graceful hands, her swaying walk, the sound of her voice, the scent of her hair –

"Yes, I thought as much," Pegasus said, nodding and tapping his finger on his chin. "I truly _am_ an excellent judge of character." He strode back to the couch, picked up his wineglass and downed it, and then began to speak.

"On my first trip to Egypt, I was a seventeen-year old widower in heart-rending pain. I met a mysterious man who gave me a terrible and powerful gift, terrible and powerful knowledge, that gave me a brief vision of my lost wife. This is when I began to study the ancient texts, the ancient ceremonies – because what force is more powerful than Love?

"On my second trip I was exploring some ruins, hoping to find a native guide and translator, when I met a charming young girl. She was an extraordinary scholar: her working knowledge of Oriental and ancient languages was simply astounding. As it turned out, I knew some people in Cairo looking for museum assistants, and she happened to be in desperate need of a job. With some persuasion from me, the museum was willing to overlook the lack of formal education in someone so unaccountably fluent in Aramaic, Phoenician, Greek, Hebrew, and ancient Egyptian.

"And so she and I formed a partnership. Over the years, she has helped me again and again." Pegasus looked over at the painting, glowing in the light from the window. "She even saved me from certain and horrible death at the hands of vindictive gods." He looked back at Rishid. "For a time, I thought I might allow myself to fill the empty space in my heart by falling in love with her, and so I used the powers I had at that time to look into her soul, to see what place I might have in it."

Rishid's mind had been swirling with thoughts of Ishizu, only half-listening to Pegasus's story, but this cleared his head and snapped him to full attention.

Pegasus smiled, faintly rueful. "What I saw there was her mother, and her younger brother, and her own Gift, and the tragic story of her family. And at her side, you. Always you. Patient, kind. Utterly devoted to your adopted siblings." Pegasus indicated the markings that covered the left side of Rishid's face, the marks that had been with him so long he usually forget that they were there. "You and I are very much alike, Mr. Ishtar. Our own pain is nothing, if it helps those we love."

Embarrassed, Rishid looked away.

"It _is_ possible to build a life with her, you know," Pegasus said quietly. "You are not related by blood."

"Enough!" Rishid shouted, jumping to his feet. "Do not speak of things that are not your concern!"

"But it _is_ my concern," Pegasus said firmly. "She is my cherished friend, and therefore I must make amends for prying into her soul. What I saw there – I will not hold my tongue! If, as I suspect, you yourself have long carried romantic feelings for her, fires that you have tried to douse by constantly reminding yourself that she is in all ways but one your sister, then you need to know that Ishizu herself, whether she ever admitted it to you or not, needed the time you have been apart to stop thinking of you as her brother, and to start thinking of you as a man."

Rishid, his heart pounding, stared at Pegasus in shock.

There was a faint noise, almost like a cry, from behind the closed door across the room.

Pegasus held his arms up to the ceiling, in his red robe looking oddly like an priest. "The foreign tongue has deciphered it, proving that the everyday Egyptian and the mystical Egyptian proclaim the same thing – a declaration of love and desire. So go," he said commandingly to Rishid, sweeping his arm down to point at the closed door. "Your future awaits."

.

.

~ The End ~

.

**Author's note**

I'd like the start with a big thank you to **Ryou VeRua**, mod of the YGO FanFiction Contest forum. Originally this story had a additional scenes and a second, darker subplot that were making me flail and twist in the wind, but thanks to Ryou's willingness to be a patient and gentle sounding board I realized that I should transplant the dark material away from the romance into its own story (_The Two Keepers_).

Names: This story uses my own personal convention for Pegsu: I've come to prefer combining his dub (Maximilian Pegasus) and Japanese (Pegasus J Crawford) names, to give him a birth name of Maximilian J. Crawford (with the "Pegasus" legally added later as a second middle name.)

This story answers a question I've always had: Just how did Ishizu become director of a museum if she spent most of her life underground?

Although I haven't quite decided who (if anyone) is hiding in Pegasus's bedroom, or which door Pegasus points to at the end (the bedroom or the exit), my assumption is that, after the curtain of this story comes down, Ishizu and Rishid meet in person to discuss what is to be done regarding Marik and the God Cards, and agree to keep apart (with their budding new relationship on hold) until everything is over. (As far as I can tell they don't appear in-screen in Battle City until after Rishid is in the Ra-coma.) ~ Granted, this is iffy canon, but I don't think it's massively farfetched or OOC either.

Peg's "dragon" comments are based on author Charlie Stross's famous reply when asked how he felt about people writing fanfictions based on his characters:

http : / / words. Leahraeder. Com / opinion / fanfiction-is-not-a-crime /

Finally: I have to say, I grinned a lot while writing this. Pegasus is _such_ a massive attention whore, isn't he?

.

(07) 3 dec 2010 ~ Dang typo gnomes!


End file.
